


Have

by Fragged



Series: Give & Take [3]
Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-02 15:57:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4065880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fragged/pseuds/Fragged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obviously simply trying to forget the whole thing isn't working.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Rush curses and slams his hand down on the edge of the console. It's not working, he can't _concentrate_ – and this whole thing with Young was a goddamn mistake. But he'd known that already, of course. 

Everywhere he looks, everywhere he goes, he's reminded of Young. Of his arms around his back, his weight against his chest, his lips against his skin. It's exhausting, and distracting, and not bloody fucking helpful when he should be focusing on shield calculations. 

Worse than the memories of the sex, though, is the memory of Young kissing him in that hallway. Young had... he had misinterpreted their night together as something other than what it was, and Rush still gets irritated when he thinks about Young's expression when he'd shoved the man away, because _he'd been perfectly clear_ about what this was from the start. It wasn't fair of Young to expect him to go along with unannounced kisses in a corridor in broad daylight simply because he'd let Young fuck him once. That wasn't the deal. 

The whole thing in the corridor had felt like some sort of dominance play on Young's part. Does he honestly expect that Rush will give in to him this easily - that Young's _tamed_ him - now that he's yielded to him in such an intimate manner? Because fuck if that thought doesn't get all Rush's hackles up. 

Still, that look on Young's face – at first he'd thought it was only shock and dismay, but his mind insists on imagining an ever increasing amount of betrayal there, too – has haunted him for the past week. 

Young hasn't really changed his behavior towards him since that kiss, which is at least one thing to be grateful for. Sure, Rush hasn't gotten another radio call that was little more than a flimsy excuse to say goodnight, but it's not like that was normal for them beforehand, either. Maybe Young is a bit cooler in his demeanor when it's just the two of them, but it's nothing Rush can't deal with. 

No, everything _should_ be fine, now. They _should_ be moving on from this, leaving the mistake of sleeping together behind them. But now it's Rush. It's his brain that keeps replaying choice moments of that night for him, leaving him aching and hard at the most inopportune times. 

Just yesterday they'd been conferring in the control interface room and Young hadn't even looked at him for more than two seconds, but it had been enough to make him flash back to Young's eyes, glittering in the dark; his grin, dirty and amused and oddly warm; the slick sheen of come on his cheek – and his cock had started filling up while Camile was in the middle of a report on her last IOA visit. 

It's like being a goddamn teenager again, having to scramble and hide and cover himself simply so people won't get the wrong idea, and it's ridiculous. 

He hypothesizes that the reason his libido is going haywire might be that he's made Young _forbidden_. He can't have Young, so he wants him. Simple as that. 

It's impractical, and annoying, but it's something he can accept. 

What he can't accept, however, is this constant state of aroused distraction. He needs to be able to work; if he makes a mistake in these calculations the resulting weakness in the shields during their next jump into FTL could cause the entire ship to get torn apart. 

Fuck. Obviously simply trying to forget the whole thing isn't working. Perhaps he needs to reexamine why he was so unwilling to extend their sexual contact beyond that one night. If it was to avoid being distracted from his work, then by now it's become quite clear that his plan was ineffective. 

Because he can't stop thinking about it. He wants to do it again. He wants touching, and kissing, and fucking – and if it improves the state of his body and his mind, why should he keep denying it? 

Maybe he can allow himself this. Just sex, just physical release. 

With Young. 

He shakes his head and makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, hating himself for being all too willing to give up his own rules and restrictions when it suits him better. He had a perfectly good reason not to allow himself more than one night of indulgence, and he shouldn't dismiss it simply because he wants to fuck Young again. 

This isn't him; this isn't _rational_ , and the whole thing will blow over on its own. 

In the mean time, he'll have Chloe check his calculations before he implements them. 

-

He holds out for another four days through sheer force of will. 

Still, on the fifth night, he lets himself into Young's quarters without knocking. 

“Rush?” Young asks, and the look on his face makes it clear he thinks something bad is going on with the ship. 

“I'm willing to extend our arrangement,” Rush says, once he's standing in front of Young. He grimaces inwardly, because that didn't come out quite the way he had intended, but Young's face goes from inquisitive to closed-off, so he guesses he got his message across regardless of its delivery. 

“What are you talking about?” Young says darkly. 

Rush almost rolls his eyes. He doesn't want a long, drawn-out conversation about this, so he forgoes any semblance of finesse and simply dives in. “The sex. We can do it again.” 

For a moment, Young looks like he's about to laugh, but his eyes are harsh and unhappy when he says, “Fuck off, Rush.” 

“It was good, for both of us,” Rush argues. 

Young gives him a look that clearly portrays 'What the fuck is the matter with you?', and Rush feels something clench in his chest almost painfully. 

“You decided that by yourself?” Young says, completely without inflection but somehow still close enough to a sneer. Rush feels panicky rage prickle all over his skin. Young is angry – his ego probably still bruised from not getting what he wanted in that corridor – and fuck that, because that was _Young_ being a presumptuous jerk and ignoring their agreement, and he doesn't get to be pissed off at Rush for that. 

Rush feels a nervous energy vibrate under the skin of his fingertips. He's not going to convince Young by talking, that much seems clear, and at this point continuing the conversation seems much too likely to end in a fight. So he grabs Young by the front of his jacket and kisses him deeply, slamming him up against the wall and pressing a leg between his thighs before the man can do much more than let out a muffled sound. 

God, yeah, Young's scent, Young's taste, it's fucking intoxicating, and when Young gives in and reciprocates, the relief that floods Rush's system is beyond reason. He can feel Young getting hard against his thigh, and oh, yes, that's better. Rush pushes his hips forward, rubs his own erection against Young, and Christ, just that blunt pressure is making his head spin already. 

Suddenly Young breaks away and shoves him back roughly. 

“Jesus, Rush! Get the hell away from me.” Young looks angry, and turned on, and he drags the back of his hand across his mouth like he's trying to get rid of something distasteful. 

Rush feels a hot, sharp flare in his chest. “I know you want this,” he challenges Young, because to hell with this indecisive bullshit; Young's arousal is fucking obvious. 

“No,” Young says, voice hard. “I _don't_.” 

“Look at yourself, Colonel,” Rush says, making a vague gesture at Young's crotch. “You're more hard-up for this than I am.” 

Young narrows his eyes at him, and for a quick second Rush is reminded of the time on that desert planet, the way Young had looked at him before throwing that first punch. That shouldn't make his prick twitch, probably, but it does. 

“You're wrong, you condescending ass. I don't want this,” Young says. “Now get the fuck out.” 

-

He's furious, _livid_ , as he makes his way back to his own quarters. Young had thrown him out, unceremoniously, and Rush is left with an absurdly insistent erection and a few hundred meters of empty corridors to cross. Young is such a fucking bastard. The man has the goddamn nerve to—Rush clenches and unclenches his fists erratically as he stomps through the hallways. _Shit_ , he's seriously pissed off. 

Because it's fucking insulting. Young was obviously turned on, he'd _obviously_ reacted to Rush's touch, and then, what? He suddenly decided he didn't want him anymore? That... fuck, that was a bloody lie. Rush remembers the sex; Young had wanted it, had wanted _him_. He'd said so himself. This is just Young being a petty fool, refusing them both the physical and mental comfort of sex because Rush had refused to give in to him in that corridor. Young thinks he can control him, to use his physical attraction to him to make Rush bend to his will?

Well, fuck that, and fuck him. 

If Young wants kissing in corridors by day but not sex by night, Rush has no fucking use for him anyway. He slams his hand down on the door opening mechanism to his quarters, and kicks off his shoes as soon as he's inside. 

Goddamn Young. 

He's still hard, and that only exacerbates his anger. Fucking Young and his idiotic principles. With that closed-off fucking expression and that slight flush of aroused animosity on his face. Shit, Rush can still feel how Young's body heat seeped into his chest through all the layers of fabric between them when he'd pressed Young up against the wall. Young is... he's a bastard, but his mouth is amazing – wet and warm and perfect to lose himself in. 

Jesus. 

Rush lets himself plop down on the bed and works open his belt and his jeans. His prick is straining against the tight cotton of his underwear, hard and persistent, and Rush lets his fingers run over the fabric with a small release of breath. That is... yeah, that feels good, and rubbing his fingertips over the head of his prick gives him an almost vicious sense of satisfaction. So Young refuses to have sex with him? Fine. He can't stop Rush from doing this. From imagining Young on his knees in front of him, between his open legs. 

Rush strips off his jeans and his underwear, and with a small mental shrug, he slips out of his shirts and socks as well. He's completely naked – a bit unnecessary, but all the more vindicating for it – as he sits on the bed, leaning his back against the wall. Young would probably kiss him, first. Yes, he would kiss him, and touch his face, whisper something sweet and ostentatious, like 'Gonna make you come so hard you'll never think of anyone else,' and then he'd place a sucking bite low on his throat. 

Rush hums to himself, letting his fingers play with his foreskin, pulling it up and back down over his tip slowly. 

Young would touch him, all over, sweeping glides of hands over his shoulders and chest, grabbing him rough and hard when his own desire gets the better of him. God, Young is fucking _strong_ , and thinking about the evidence of that really does something for Rush. That probably says something deep and fucked up and revealing about him, but he honestly doesn't give a shit. Young would squeeze him until it hurt, just enough to scare him a little. Yeah.

A drop of precome wells up on the head of his cock, and he dips his finger in leisurely, imagining he is touching Young, spreading the proof of Young's arousal, clear and slippery, over himself. 

He wants Young between his thighs. He wants Young to suck him off again, to fuck him, deep and slow or hard and fast, _anything_ – and fuck Young anyway, because that's exactly what they could have been doing right now if it wasn't for his obstinate nonsense. 

But yes... _fuck_ Young. That sounds good, too.

He's stroking himself with a firm rhythm now, no more playing. He wants... He wants to come imagining this - taking Young. Claiming _him_ this time. Making him realize what that feels like.

Young would probably hate knowing Rush is getting himself off thinking about this - about fucking him, one hand on the back of Young's head and one hand on his shoulder, holding him down and driving into him from behind. He bites his lip savagely and lets his hand speed up. Yeah, Young would hate it. 

There's a charged tension coiling up in his stomach, and he knows it won't be long now. He tightens his fingers around his cock and sucks in a harsh breath. 

Perhaps, though, something whispers to him, Young wouldn't hate it at all. The Young in his mind fists his hands in the sheets, turns his head to the side, and moans his name, back arching and hips bucking wildly – and Jesus _Christ_. He can't... he has—oh _fuck_. 

Rush comes, sudden and hard, and he feels the pleasure travel all over his skin, buzzing electrically inside and out. God, yeah, that's good. 

He lies on his back with his eyes closed, his come cooling quickly on his stomach and chest, and waits for his heartbeat to calm down. 

The more the high of his orgasm fades away, though, the more his anger for Young returns. 

Young should've never gone along with it, with that one night of sex, if he knew he couldn't deal with it. 

Damn it, he still feels hot with fury and rejection, and it shouldn't matter that Young pushed him away, that Young doesn't want him anymore, but it does. It makes something churn in his stomach, and he isn't even sure it's anger anymore, because it feels more uncomfortable than that. 

He reaches over to his nightstand and grabs a hand towel to clean himself up. His resentment still flits around in his skull like a hummingbird, but his orgasm has left him physically drained, and it isn't hard to close his eyes when he drops the towel back onto the side table. 

Yes, alright, he thinks as he yawns against the back of his hand. Tomorrow all this emotional bunk will have dissipated. 

Things will go back to normal. 

-

Things don't go back to normal. Rush wakes up the next morning with the exact same mixture of resentful rejection coursing through his veins, and it doesn't fade. 

His interactions with Young become even sparser than before, and when Eli makes a remark about the unfriendly tension between them after Young walks out of the control interface room with tight shoulders and a thunderous face, Rush has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep more than a short, cutting sneer from falling out. 

It's not tenable, because much as he hates to admit it, he needs Young on the ship, and he needs Young on his side. They'd been doing well, they'd found a way to work together – despite their differences and their pasts – and Rush just _had_ to go and ruin it by throwing sex into the mix. He should have seen this coming, because sex complicates things. He'd known that. 

What he hadn't expected, however, was that it would complicate things for _him_. 

Because it has, much more than he could have imagined. Even being pissed off at Young doesn't make the man seem less appealing. It's been over three weeks since they slept together, but the memories of it haven't lost any of their effect on his arousal. He still gets hard dizzyingly fast when he thinks back on it. The way Young had felt inside him, how he'd worked Rush open with his fingers, how he'd fucked him and swallowed him down and made him come. 

More and more, though, the memories that finally push him over the edge are the memories of Young kissing him. Young kissing him wetly, with a frantic urgency, or Young placing a row of soft kisses along his jaw, or Young desperately kissing him back in his quarters, before pushing him away... It is getting to be a problem, going from bad to worse, because the feelings those memories inspire are more than simple lust. There's something gentle, and aching, and—with a shock he realizes he's _yearning_ for Young, and fuck, that is not okay. 

It's been six days since their last encounter in Young's quarters, and he still hasn't moved on. He's still angry, and upset, and angry that he's upset. 

Fuck, this is such a fucking mess. 


	2. Chapter 2

He slams back the last of Brody's liquor and twists the cap back onto the bottle. Christ, this batch could double as paint-thinner, and he can already feel the heartburn beginning to set in. It did what it was supposed to do, though – the murky mess of his emotional impulses seems... not less insistent, but less objectionable, perhaps. He doesn't feel bad about feeling bad right now, and that's something. 

So maybe he has feelings for Young that are more complicated than sexual attraction and personal dislike – who can blame him? Young is a complicated man. 

Where at first Rush had seen the colonel as little more than a military brute – a man who was used to getting his way, a man who was used to strong-arming people into doing what he wanted – he has since had to revise his opinion of Young several times. Not always to the better, of course; indecisive and useless were decidedly worse qualities than forceful brutishness, in Rush's honest opinion. But sometimes... sometimes Young surprised him. 

Only hours after Young had been ready to kill him for keeping the bridge a secret, the man had become his greatest ally aboard the ship. Not too long after that Young had promised he'd stay behind with him on the Destiny, leaving Rush with his heart fluttering high in his throat, confused and almost painfully hopeful. 

It was... Young had been beautiful right then. And now that Rush thinks about it, perhaps that was when he had first become aware of his attraction to the colonel. 

By now, with the alcohol thrumming through his veins and the metal deck plating of the corridors clanking under the soles of his shoes, it might be time to admit that this thing with Young is about more than mere physical want. It's not just sex he thinks about anymore; he can't stop imagining kissing Young, touching him, _holding_ him, in ways that are more about genuine affection than physical attraction. Fuck, he wishes he could say his craving for Young was simply a matter of curiosity - something that could be sated by experiencing it once - but obviously that hadn't been the case. No, despite his best efforts, it's done. He's in this now, and there's no longer any use in denying that he needs more. 

Rush drags a nervous hand through his hair before punching the door control to Young's quarters hard enough to hurt his knuckles. 

Young is on the couch, seemingly staring into empty space. He's on his feet almost immediately. 

“Rush,” he says, tone warning and mouth tight with disapproval. God, Rush hates this, feeling jittery, and scared, and ashamed.

Young's voice echoes in his head, _'I don't want this,'_ and it makes a muscle in Rush's cheek twitch. Because that can't be it. That can't be true. Young had reacted; _Young had kissed back_. 

But then he'd pushed Rush away. 

“What the fuck _do_ you want, then?” Rush blurts out. Because Young must want something, and at this point Rush thinks perhaps he wants to be the one to give it to him. 

Young looks at him for a long moment. 

“Why do you care?” he says, and Rush isn't sure whether it's a question or a statement. He supposes it's valid either way, though. From Young's point of view Rush's actions of the past few weeks probably make even less sense than they do to himself.

A loaded silence falls between them. Young is waiting for an answer, quiet and still like the ocean - always just a deep tectonic quake away from overwhelming destruction. Rush wants to step closer, to _feel_ him. 

Shit, he shouldn't be here. He's going to do something he will regret. But then, the way things are between them now is fucked anyway, and it's only a matter of time before they undo all the progress they'd made before that one night together. They might go back to how they were on Icarus, or they might be even worse, and if that's his alternative... 

“Because I can't stop thinking about it,” he admits, words falling out in a rush. God, he feels vulnerable, putting himself out there for Young, knowing the man could just as easily turn him down again. He never should have refused that kiss in the corridor. Perhaps that would have saved him this excruciating conversation. Rush refuses to break eye contact - one small act of defiance while Young forces him to strip himself bare - and continues. “I want to do it again.” 

Young looks... Rush isn't sure what his expression means, but it doesn't look happy. 

“Then go. Do it. I'm sure you'll find someone up for a one-night stand somewhere aboard the ship, Rush, but it's not me.” 

“No,” Rush clarifies, shaking his head in frantic irritation. Goddamn Young, why does he have to make everything so fucking hard? He feels his heart thud an uneven rhythm in the back of his throat as he swallows the last of his pride. It's almost more than he can stomach. “I can't stop thinking about _you_.” 

Young pauses, hesitates. His eyes are dark and unreadable. Everything about him is completely opaque, Rush can't see through any of it at all, and even the alcohol in his bloodstream can't make this seem unimportant. 

“I'm not interested in a repeat of that night,” Young says. The way he bites off the final word nearly makes Rush flinch. 

“...You're lying,” Rush says. He wishes his voice didn't sound so weak, so hesitant. “You wanted—” 

“—I don't want to fuck whenever you feel like it,” Young interrupts him harshly. 

“Well, what the fuck _do_ you want?” Rush bursts out. Because he wants Young, and he wants more than this shadowy nothing they're in right now, but the thought of having to compromise his autonomy, to bend to Young's will whenever the man demands it... he can't do that. Just the thought of it makes him see red. “You want me to fucking listen to everything you say? Become your obedient little lapdog?” 

“What?” Young says, after a beat of silence. He sounds genuinely irritated and confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I'm not going to change for you,” Rush bites out. His insides feel like they're twisting themselves into knots. This whole thing was a fucking mistake. Another mistake in a row of fucking mistakes. Hell, why is he even here? 

Young stops, looks at him, eyes blinking into a slight squint. “I never asked you to change. Is that what this is all about?” 

Rush scoffs, but it comes out sounding unconvincing. Honestly, he's not entirely sure what this is all about, himself, anymore. 

“I was okay with the way things were before, Rush. _You_ decided you wanted sex, and I thought it was... that we could... But you didn't want that.” He takes a deep breath, looks Rush straight in the eye. “If you don't want anything more, that's fine. But I don't want anything less.” 

“So, what does that mean? You want to braid my hair and hold hands?” Rush says derisively, and Jesus, he's not even sure what he's trying to do here, antagonizing Young right now. Young is offering him more sex, under the condition that it won't be entirely free of strings - Rush supposes Young intends kissing in corridors by day to be part of the deal as well, at the very least - and this is almost exactly what he wanted, isn't it? Why is he trying to sabotage himself? Why does he feel so dissatisfied? 

Young doesn't react, though, other than with a slight quirk to his lips. 

“Maybe,” he says easily, before his expression sobers. “But I don't want you to just come over here when you're horny or lonely or whatever the fuck this is. I'm not going to sleep with you and pretend that it's just sex. Because it's not. Not for me, anyway.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but then presses his lips together firmly. Rush gives him an inquisitive look - he needs to know what Young was about to say - and there must be something about his expression that gets through to Young, because he lets out a small sigh and speaks. “I'm not going to play along with this in-between bullshit, Rush. I want you. All of you.”

And oh, this is something new Rush is feeling - fluttery and aching and almost knocking the breath out of him. 

Because Young wants... This sounds like... Young has _feelings_ for him. 

Oh. 

Rush should've seen that. It was staring him in the face all along, but he'd gotten too caught up in his own personal hangups. It seems some of the struggle for control between them may have been entirely one-sided, here. 

Young had rejected him because he wants more than just sex – he hadn't said no to _Rush_ , he'd said no to the lack of commitment - and Rush can hardly believe the overwhelming wave of relief that washes through him at that knowledge. 

Because that's... that's kind of sweet, isn't it? 

He takes a few steps forward and reaches his hand out to capture Young's wrist in his grip. 

“I'm not going to change,” he says in a low tone, because he needs that to be clear. This is who he is, and if Young is hoping he'll somehow change into a better person just because they're together, this is never going to work. Young's skin is warm and dry under his fingertips. Rush can feel the heat radiating from his body. 

Young makes an annoyed sound. “And I just said I don't want another meaningless fuck, so maybe you should leave,” he answers, face painstakingly neutral in that way that means he's having unpleasant emotions. Trust Young to misunderstand everything. Christ. Young tries to pull his arm out of Rush's hand, but Rush gives him a small yank and steps even closer. 

“No,” he says. “I mean, if we do this. Don't expect me to become someone else.” 

Young's eyes are serious, searching his face for... Rush isn't sure what exactly. He seems to find it, though, because at last his expression softens. “I already told you, I don't want someone else.” 

“You want me,” Rush murmurs, and then he's pressing forward and kissing Young again. 

This time Young doesn't push him away. This time Young cups his face like he's something precious and guides him towards the desk until Rush hoists himself onto it and wraps his legs around Young's hips. Young bends over him, lowers him until his back is flat on the desk, and neither of them reacts when an empty metal cup and a ballpoint pen clatter to the floor in a flurry of loose papers. 

Rush gets hard so fast it's dizzying - the heavy weight of Young on top of him turning him on and bringing back flashes of their night together. It also reminds him of the more violent encounters between them, and that thought makes his hips snap up brutally. He moans and strains uselessly against Young as his arms wind tighter around the man's neck.

“Colonel,” he pants when he finally breaks away, and he relishes the way their hips line up – Young is just as hard as he is. He rolls his pelvis into Young's, letting out a breathy moan at the friction it provides, and Young looks down at him, bites his lip as he pushes Rush harder into the flat surface of the desk. 

Young's unhurried, smooth thrusts are almost too much against his clothed prick, and Rush feels a panicky whine rise up from his throat as he realizes this might be it – he's going to come from just this, and _Jesus_ , he's not a fucking teenager anymore, but Young is kissing him again and _fuck_ , he can't stop it. He's been trying – and failing – not to think about this for weeks now, but it's impossible to hold back like this, with Young on top of him and against him and _with_ him. 

Rush clenches his legs bruisingly tight around Young's hips and surges up into him – his moment of resistance already forgotten, because _yes_ , this is Young, and sweet, addictive pressure, and he really fucking needs to come right the fuck now. 

Young's tongue is warm and strong against his, and he hears himself making short, aborted noises into Young's mouth as the desire winds around him and through him in a dizzying whirl of pleasure. His hands scratch frantically against the coarse fabric of Young's uniform, and then he's coming, his head falling back against the desk and his voice a hoarse parody of itself as he bucks his hips and drenches the insides of his pants. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans, and when he opens his eyes again he sees Young staring down at him with a perplexed sort of wonder. 

“...Did you just?” he breathes out, and Rush grits his teeth and looks away, because Jesus, he just came and Young didn't even fucking touch him. It's humiliating, until Young presses his nose down against his cheek and lets out a shaky laugh. “Christ, that's hot.” 

And something in his chest finally unwinds, finally makes him feel like this is okay - because Young is perfect, hard and heavy on top of him - and Rush lets his hands steal up into his dark, curly hair to pull him closer still.

The wet mess in his trousers will get uncomfortable soon, he knows, but for now what he really wants is to show Young that he still wants this, that he's not just here for a quick orgasm. They're past that, now, and maybe this is the biggest mistake he's ever made, but he wants to give it an honest try with Young, because fuck if he doesn't think they might just be compatible enough to make it work. Young has already seen the worst of him, and he still... 

“You want me,” Rush whispers. It comes out sounding like a question. And perhaps this is what he was scared of all along, because he needs to hear Young say it, over and over again, apparently. 

Young smiles like he knows exactly what's going on in Rush's head, and it makes an instinctive surge of irritation shoot through him. It dissipates, though, as quickly as it came, when Young presses a soft kiss onto the corner of his jaw, and then another one onto his cheekbone. Rush feels his eyes flutter closed at the tenderness of the gesture. 

“Yeah, Rush. I want you,” Young says directly into his ear, and it's impossible not to believe him when he sounds so sincere. It sends a bone deep shudder through his entire being, traveling along his veins and stirring parts of him he'd thought were long dead, shriveled and atrophied. Fuck, for a quick second he's afraid he might cry, and he tightens his hands in Young's hair in a way that has to be at least a little bit painful. Young doesn't protest. 

“Okay. Alright,” Rush breathes eventually, pushing Young back to let him off the desk, and turning him so Young is the one leaning against it now. 

“I'll— let me...” Rush says, and then he's sinking to his knees, prying open the button and the zipper on Young's trousers until he reaches the hard flesh underneath all that dark fabric. 

He hadn't given it a good enough look, before, with the lights off and the overwhelming _want_ clouding his senses, but right now he has the presence of mind to appreciate Young's arousal – his thick, curved length, and the circumcised tip that's already glistening with the proof of his desire. Christ, he's never...

“Rush,” Young says from above him, and he sounds wrecked. His voice is low and gritty, and fuck, Rush loves it – the way Young's voice rumbles has always sent tiny licks of lust through him, even before they ever had sex. 

“Yeah,” he says, looking up into Young's eyes for a second. The expression on Young's face makes his breath stutter in his lungs, and he glances back down and wraps a hand around Young's cock. God, it looks dauntingly unfamiliar from this close up, but he won't deny he wants it, he wants to know... He opens his mouth and takes Young in, and _fuck_ , the precome on his head is slick and almost sweet, and Rush can't hold back a moan at the way the taste makes something come undone inside him. 

This. He wants this. With Young. Even if he's tried never to let himself think about it, this is what he's been craving for a long time now.

“God, _Rush_ ,” Young groans, and it's enough to make Rush close his eyes and take Young's cock deeper into his mouth. It's not difficult to find a way to make it work, sucking and rubbing his tongue over Young's tip as his hand strokes a steady pace over the base. The fingers of his other hand grip hard into the back of Young's thigh, and all of it feels alarmingly good. He feels his own prick twitch into the tacky mess inside his pants, and even though he knows he won't get hard again it still makes him moan around Young's cock. 

One of Young's hands comes up from where he's leaning back against the desk, and a tentative touch to the shell of his ear makes Rush let out a shuddering breath through his nose. Young's thumb traces the corner of his mouth before his fingers slip lower, trailing against the vulnerable skin of his throat, and Rush swallows reflexively around Young's length. 

“Rush,” Young pants, barely above a whisper. “I'm close.” 

He should pull back, probably. He should appreciate the courtesy and move away, keep this from going even further than it already has. Instead he sucks, _hard_ , and lets his hand speed up until Young curses and tightens his fingers around the base of his neck. 

Young's cock spills its release into his mouth, coating the back of his throat in thick spurts, and it's filthy and disgusting and Rush feels a shiver that starts at the top of his spine and runs all the way to his balls as he swallows it down with a deep moan. Fuck, he has no idea whether apparently he's been suppressing some rather intense homosexual tendencies his entire life, or whether it's because of _Young_ , but he knows he's going to want to do this again. 

“Jesus, _Rush_ ,” Young groans when Rush finally pulls away with one last flick of his tongue against the underside of his head, before tucking Young's cock back into his underwear. 

He gets back up to his feet, ignoring the slight creak of his knees, and grimaces at the mess in his pants. He's not quite sure what to do now, but the flush on Young's face and the astonished little smile on his lips make him feel like things will be okay, somehow. 

Something warm and aching weaves its way through his chest when Young wraps his arm around him and pulls him close. It has nothing to do with sex; it's intimacy and affection, and it feels safe and terrifying all at once. 

“Stay?” Young asks into the skin of his throat, and Rush doesn't think he's imagining the hint of insecurity beneath the question. 

More than admitting he couldn't stop thinking about Young, more than taking his fucking cock inside his mouth, it's pressing a chaste kiss to the side of Young's cheek that makes his heart race like it's about to explode from his chest. 

“Yeah, alright,” he husks, with some difficulty. Because he's saying yes to more than just the night. He's saying yes to Young, to _them_ , and to all the incalculable ways in which this might end in blood or tears or heartbreak.

The way Young looks at him - warm and dazzling and breathtaking - is brilliant enough to make it worth it.


End file.
